


Play Me Something

by Violet_Quaileggs



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Daryl plays guitar, Fluff, M/M, Music, Nostalgia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 06:28:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14074929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violet_Quaileggs/pseuds/Violet_Quaileggs
Summary: Daryl used to play guitar to help with his constant tapping. He stopped ever since the world ended. Paul found out and wanted to help him bring those days back





	Play Me Something

Daryl’s hands never rested. Ever since he was a kid, he could never stop doing something with his hands, albeit carving figures out of wood or rolling joints for Merle. For the brief few years that he was in school, he would constantly get reprimanded by the teachers for always twirling his pens or tapping on the table during tests. One more reason why he wasn’t fit for school. 

 

When he and Merle were hunting for game, his fingers would jitter on their own, tapping to an erratic rhythm in his head. They would only still for a second as he pulled the trigger to his bow to send the bolt flying through the air. After he landed his shot, they would resume their drumming. The weight of the knife in his palm grounded him as he skin his trophy, his hands were skilled and steady in the task. The reason why he smoked so much was because it was yet another excuse to have something in his hands. 

 

People commented on his jittering, not judgmentally but they noticed it. Some suggested he pick up playing guitar for his hands to have something to pluck on. He scoffed at the idea at first.  _ Him?  _ A yuppie hipster with a guitar playing soulful indie folk by the bonfire? Sounded fucking insane.

 

But then, the idea just wouldn’t leave his head. He took a leap of faith and bought himself the cheapest guitar the store had. Merle had laughed at him for it but the very next day, the man had slapped him in the face with a Guitar for Dummies booklet before throwing him a “Good luck, Darylina. Ya might be rockstar one day and I could leach off yer cocaine stash then.” 

 

It took him 4 months to learn his first song. It was a slightly more mellow version of Hotel California and he was quite damn proud of it. He kept practicing every chance he got, and a year passed since that stupid whim, he would say he was good at it. He liked the feeling of the guitar in his lap, he loved that his excited fingers had things to do that would make awesome sounds out of. He smoked way less after that.

 

3 years in and he still hadn’t played for anyone but Merle on a drunken night. He liked it, he was proud of his work, yet never enough to actually showcase it to anyone but himself. He didn’t get a chance to before the world imploded and created a new one. He’d forgotten the guitar at the trailer when he and Merle flee the place to get away from those damn walkers. He never got the chance to play ever again, since there was never a dull moment for anyone to sit down and actually breathe. 

 

People died, people killed, he killed, his family died. His hands were always occupied by a knife, a gun or his crossbow, he’d forgotten that he used to find excuse for them to work. Now, he just wished he could let them relax for once.

 

After a whole year at war, they dropped their weapons and picked up tools to rebuild everything that had fallen down. Those were the first non-destructive things he’d held since that guitar years ago. The next non-destructive thing, or person, he held after that, was the Hilltop’s scout who had a heart of gold and arguably, the most stubborn head he’d ever met. 

 

He didn’t even know when or how they happened but just like with his music, they just simply came together in discreet harmony. His hands could now tangle into that ridiculously beautiful hair and that trimmed beard, instead of toying with a cigarette. His fingers could now twine into more slender digits, tracing the callouses and scars on those hands, instead of clutching around a knife. His palms could now close over a slim waist and hold the other body close to him, instead of clenching up into a fist in ready of a fight. 

 

On one orgasm drunken night, when their pillow talk turned into a conversation about fidgeting and drumming, he surprised himself by spilling out a confession.

 

“I always got told to stop tapping because it _annoyed_ people.” Paul had said into his shoulder. It didn’t surprise Daryl that the man was an active little kid, given how he was now. “Yah… Me too. They wouldn’t even let me twirl a fucking pen.” He said and Paul laughed. His eyes were already weighted with a hazy look on him and god, was he fucking beautiful.

 

“Ya know, I used ta play guitar. To help with the tapping.” He felt the younger man jerk his face up to gaze at him but he kept his eyes close. He didn’t know why, but this… secret of him was more private and personal than anything he’d ever said to anyone. Probably because he himself had forgotten about it until now, lying in Paul’s arms apparently brought those happy memories back to surface. 

 

“Did you like it?” Paul asked with wondrous curiosity. Now that the flowgate had opened, he didn’t think he could close it again. “Yeah. It was comforting. Got me off smokin’ fer a while. When shit got too heated, I sometimes snuck into the woods and played to myself. Some deer mighta heard it but they ain’t complainin’ so I kept goin’.”  

 

“Does anyone know about this?” Paul asked, his eyes gleaming. He shook his head. “Nah. Just Merle. And you now.” 

 

“Hmm.” Paul hummed, Daryl could already tell the gears in his head are turning, he didn’t know to generate what but he could never figure that pretty head out anyway. “Goodnight, Daryl.” Paul yawned and nuzzled closer to him as he whispered a goodnight back.

 

The next day, they went on a run together. There was no schedule for that, they were supposed to do it next week but Paul was giddy and bouncing around like a toddler, begging him to go on a run and he couldn’t say no to that face. He somewhat suspected the reason the younger man was acting this way was because of their conversation last night. 

 

Paul was grinning the whole car ride, he gave Daryl a sly smirk whenever he’d ask “Wait, where the hell are ya takin’ us? I thought we’re goin’ to the pharmacy.” 

 

As soon as the car slowed down, he knew where and what Paul had dragged him to. 

 

“Paul…” He began to groan but the scout had already exited the vehicle and hopped over to his side, ripping the door open. “Just… have a look. I’m not saying you  _ have  _ to play or anything. It just that… you sounded like you were very happy. I just want to try and bring those days back to you.” 

 

_ Shit, there it is, the puppy eyes.  _ The younger man was giving him the big puppy pleading eyes as he dug his toes into the ground. Daryl hated that he got him so tightly wrapped around his fingers. “Fine.” He grunted and Paul’s face brightened with a smile. That heart-stopping look almost made this worth the humiliation.  _ Almost.  _

 

Paul towed him by the hand into the music shop, eyes wary for any danger approaching. They knocked on the windows and waited for a minute. Daryl contemplated running back to the car and bolting to spare him the embarrassment. A minute passed before a few walkers slammed their grimy hands onto the glass. They actually looked like music folks, probably had been in there ever since the beginning of the end. Made sense since who would ever loot the music store in the apocalypse. Except for these dumbasses anyway. 

 

They quickly removed the walkers and walked further into the shop. This reminded him of the time he bought that guitar, the same feeling of dread and self-consciousness creeping up on him. 

 

“What do you think of this?” He turned around to find Paul had strapped a dusty electric guitar onto his shoulder as he did some headbanging, his long hair flipping around while he pretended to play. His boyfriend was a fucking dork. “This suits ya more.” Daryl said as he picked up an acoustic wooden one, looking plain and classic but he knew the thing probably cost around three to four hundreds before the fall. 

 

Paul took the instrument from his offering hands and held close to his stomach. “Hmm, it's got a nice weight to it.” He tried plucking some strings, the thing were gravely out of tune but Paul seemed clueless on the matter, he just looked so entranced by the sounds the old thing was making. Daryl only then realized how long it had been since anyone of them heard anything melodic, not since Beth, gunfires and bombs had occupied their lives for way too long now. There needed to be singing and music again, there needed to be something better again.

 

Paul handed it back to him. “I still think it’d look better on you.” Daryl took it hesitantly, he wanted to set it down but the look Paul was giving him along with his own buried want urged him to take a seat and placed the guitar in his lap. He took a few minutes to tune the thing, the strings were slacked from years of disuse but they hadn’t snapped thankfully. When he was finally satisfied with it, Paul had taken a seat opposite from him, eyes wide with anticipation as his fingers tapped. Daryl’s mind traitorously took him to an image of him teaching the younger man how to play to help with his jittering as well. Well, maybe the thought wasn’t so bad.

 

He began to play, a song he’d forgotten the name to, but it just came back to him like riding a bicycle. He fucked up in some parts, he forgot some others and hummed to fill in the blank. His eyes were trained on his hands, to afraid to lift his gaze to the man before him. He’d never played in front of no one and the first time he did was after 3 years of non-practice. Gotta sound horrible.

 

‘That was amazing.” Paul breathed as the song ended. He looked misty, nostalgic maybe. “My mom used to play. I was too young to remember it, but I can still faintly recall the feeling. On the floor, playing with plastic cars maybe, and hearing this in the background.” Paul closed his eyes and tilted his head back to envision his memory, Daryl found himself just as entranced by the sight as Paul was with his playing. 

 

He longed for the day Paul think back to him with just as much fondness. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all. 

 

He decided to bring the guitar back, along with some music sheets. He may have hid a ukulele in the back, just in case Paul wanted to learn. They decided to swing by the pharmacy too, so that this trip wasn’t just for personal gain. When they loaded off, Daryl noticed a few stares from the people as he carried the guitar bag back to their trailer. Paul was sheepishly giggling with Maggie behind him but Daryl's face was too red for him to glare back. 

 

He didn’t play for Paul for a while after that, much to the younger man’s disappointment but he wanted to really nail this. He knew Paul wouldn’t judge him whether it was horrible or not,  _ I’d love it either way, and you’re not bad, I heard it already,  _ the man had begged. But he still wanted to show he made some effort to impress the man. 

 

The next time he played for someone else beside himself, he played for _everyone_ else. There was a small bonfire, they were celebrating the harvest, they were drunk and happy, and it seemed like the perfect opportunity to get this out of the way once and for all. Daryl dragged the guitar out and with shaky fingers, started to play in front of everyone. Some folks who knew the words sang along, couples were huddled together, basking in the warmth of the fire and enjoying his horrible music. His eyes fleeted to Paul’s and the wet gaze met him back with admiration and fondness. 

 

He decided it was not a mistake telling Paul this, and sharing this with his people was a wonderful feeling he never felt before. If he could have this feeling forever, he would never put the guitar back down ever again. 

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a gif of Daryl holding his crossbow and in one frame, he looked like he was holding a guitar. That was how this fic came to exist. My brain works in weird ways.


End file.
